The Golden Greenhouse
The blue dress hung in the center of the room like a suspended ghost, its fabric so sheer it seemed woven from the morning mist that clung to the valley floor. Margaret stood before it, her hands resting on the wooden hanger, her knuckles white. It was a garment of such delicate construction, a confection of tulle and silk that had belonged to her mother, and before that, to her grandmother, a...
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